


Singles

by clocksworks



Series: Pizza-verse [3]
Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clocksworks/pseuds/clocksworks
Summary: A series of one-shots concerning the events in 'A Question of Lust' and ''A Question of Time'but with alternative perspectives from other characters.Chapter 1 (Martin) - Dave and Martin have an honest discussion after his argument with Alan.Chapter 2 (Andre) - Andre doesn't know what to do when his classmate falls sick during a lecture.Chapter 3 (Dave) - The first time Dave calls Alan 'Charlie'.Chapter 4 (Fletch) - Fletch witnesses a break-up.Chapter 5 (Dave) - Dave’s plans for Valentine’s Day go horribly wrong.
Relationships: Andrew "Fletch" Fletcher/Martin Gore, Andrew "Fletch" Fletcher/Other(s), Dave Gahan/Alan Wilder
Series: Pizza-verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772191
Comments: 74
Kudos: 34





	1. Martin: A Pain That I'm Used To

**Author's Note:**

> The very kind [Ella_Eule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ella_Eule/pseuds/Ella_Eule) mentioned that she wouldn't mind seeing a series of one-shots from the Pizza-verse. I had actually been toying with the idea of writing certain scenes from the perspectives of different characters, so you will see things from Dave, Martin, Fletch, etc.
> 
> Once again I am truly grateful to the few of you who are reading this series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place sometime between Dave and Alan's argument and the rooftop picnic.

Martin remembered very clearly when Dave had come home with Alan for the first time. “Hey lads, this is Al,” Dave had announced, and Martin had nodded from the sofa while Andy had sat up, exchanging a pointed look with Martin. They were both honestly used to the revolving door of girls Dave sometimes brought home, but this was the very first time he’d come home with a bloke.

When they’d disappeared into Dave’s room, Andy had shrugged at Martin. “Dunno, maybe they’re just mates.”

“Maybe,” Martin had said doubtfully, and that was when very un-friendlike moans and creaking bed sounds had started coming out of Dave’s room. Andy had clapped a hand over his mouth in shock, while Martin had succumbed to a case of the giggles at Andy’s gobsmacked expression. It might have been a huge surprise to Andy, but Martin had caught the way Dave had eyed a few blokes whenever the three of them went out clubbing with Daryl sometimes. Dave’s tastes in men tended to run towards the pretty and mysterious types, which was fine with Martin - he’d always preferred them tall and rugged himself.

However, something else happened that neither Martin or Andy expected. Alan started coming over all the bloody time.

At first, Martin and Andy hadn’t known how to handle it. Alan seemed like a nice enough person and he was very polite, and thankfully he knew how to keep his hands off things that didn’t belong to him (unfortunately Dave did not fall into this category, so Martin had personally borne witness to all sorts of creative groping). Alan never ate their food unless they invited him to, and after a while he started stocking the fridge with his own contributions. The only real complaint Martin possibly had was that Alan sometimes took quite a bit of time in the bathroom to do his hair, but then again Martin didn’t really hold it against the bloke. If Martin looked like Alan, he would be just as vain too.

Of course, once Alan had left for the day, Dave would be subjected to merciless amounts of teasing from Martin and Andy. He would always deny everything while turning a bright tomato red, but Martin knew deep down that things were quickly getting serious, and Alan was probably going to be around for a long time. So Martin made more of an effort to get to know Alan and made him feel like he fit in. As expected, Andy followed his lead. Things were going really well. Alan seemed to like them a lot too.

So when Dave came home one day in a fine temper and slammed his room door so hard that Miffles dashed off into hiding, Martin was more than worried. Andy, who’d been frying fish fingers in the kitchen, stuck his head out to frown at Martin in the living room. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, sweaty and red-faced in his silly apron.

“Dave,” Martin mouthed, gesturing towards his closed room door and mimicking a thunderous face. They exchanged a series of gestures - _why-is-he-upset / I-dunno / well-go-bloody-find-out_ \- which made Martin sigh because of course he would be the one to go sort out this mess.

Martin already knew from experience that Dave wouldn’t be ready to talk yet, so this gave him a few hours to go sort out his supplies. Putting on his jacket, Martin left the flat and walked to their local Sainsbury’s. It was very crowded for a Wednesday, but Martin braved the queues for crisps, lime juice, salt and an assortment of mixers. Then he popped into the nearest off-license for their strongest bottle of tequila and a bag of ice.

Over a dinner of fish fingers, peas and chips, he and Andy speculated over what could have gone wrong. It was definitely something Alan-related, they both knew that much. It also had to be something Alan said or did. If Dave had done something wrong, he would have veered down the path of guilt and self-destruction, not anger. “Maybe it was that bird, the pretty one at the gig,” Andy said, chewing a chip thoughtfully. “Y’know, the one with the weird name who fancies Alan.”

“But they didn’t have a rehearsal today,” Martin said, puzzled. “Where could they have bumped into her? Also, don’t say that in front of Dave unless you want him to throw an even worse strop.”

Andy scoffed. “I’m not stupid.” The frown line between his eyebrows deepened. “Fuck, you think Alan asked her out?”

“Don’t think so.” Martin pushed his plate of chips and peas towards Andy. “Finish mine, could you?”

“You eat like a bird.” Andy didn’t refuse the plate, though. “It’s just too bad, if Alan were really like that.”

“Like what?”

“A fuckboy, y’know? Keeping that bird and Dave and a bunch of other poor bastards on backup like that.”

Martin chuckled a little nervously. “I don’t think he’s like that.”

“Good,” Andy said vehemently. “Cos I’ve got a good mind to march down to his flat and kick his arse if he were stringing poor ol’ Dave along.”

Martin could only smile at his oldest and dearest friend. The thing no one knew about Andy was the depths of his loyalty, once he’d decided you were friend and not foe. It was touching that Andy had already marked Alan as the bad guy and would happily shout at him for it, but ultimately it would just make things so much worse for Dave and Alan. Sure, Martin hadn’t talked to Dave yet, but already he suspected there was more beneath the surface.

Conversely, one of Andy’s main flaws was that he tended to take people and whatever they said or did at face value. Martin couldn’t blame him, though. Andy had been blessed with the luxury of never having to question his reality or his identity, not the way Martin and Dave had had to do with their own upbringing.

They heard the bedroom door opening, before Dave shuffled into the bathroom. There were also sounds of angry sniffling. “Should I stay?” Andy asked, worried. “I can cancel, Grainne won’t mind.”

Martin shook his head. “Nah, just go for your movie. I’ll sort him out.”

“You’re a champ, Mart.” Andy got up, dropping a greasy kiss on Martin’s forehead before he dumped both their plates in the sink. He’d left some food aside for Dave, in case he wanted it, but Martin had the feeling Dave wouldn’t have much of an appetite.  
  


***  
  


After Andy left, Martin kept the TV on and worked a bit on his essay before getting distracted by Miffles, who seemed to have calmed down and come out of hiding after her scare earlier. He was stroking her in his lap and talking nonsense to her when Dave emerged from his room, his jaw set and his eyes reddened. “We left some supper for you on the stove,” Martin told him.

“Thanks,” Dave said in a flat voice. He flopped onto the sofa next to Martin, reaching out and raking his fingers through Miffles’ grey fur.

“If you’re not interested in supper,” Martin said carefully, “I’ve got tequila and lime juice.”

Dave didn’t even question the sudden appearance of these items. “Sure,” he said, giving Martin a listless shrug. Martin gently pushed Miffles off his lap before going to retrieve everything he’d bought earlier.

They were a few drinks in when Dave suddenly asked Martin a question: “Do I get jealous easily?”

Martin thought about it. Dave had been quite possessive back when he’d been dating Jo in Bas, but Martin had always thought he was more laissez-faire towards the string of girls he’d been seeing in uni. He hadn’t been monogamous with any of them, and he hadn’t expected them to do the same either. “Sometimes, I reckon,” Martin said. Now he had a rough idea of what had happened. “I guess it depends on the person.”

“I feel like Charlie has no idea some of the stuff he does is hurtful,” Dave said in a low voice, clutching his mug of homemade lime margarita. His gaze was far off, unseeing. “And I want to tell him why it’s hurtful, but--”

“You feel like you have no claim?” Martin offered.

Dave nodded, taking another long swig from his mug. He handed it to Martin, who faithfully topped it up.

“I thought I told you to talk to him about this,” Martin gently reminded him. “Did you chicken out?”

“What? No, I didn’t,” an indignant Dave said. “We said we weren’t seeing other people. We went to get tested together, for fuck’s sake.”

Martin waggled his hand in an ‘ehhh’ manner. “That may mean different things to different people.”

“How?”

It was time to go in for the kill. Dave was solidly on his way to getting drunk, but he was still lucid enough to get Martin’s point. “Because you think you two are in a relationship,” Martin said bluntly. “And, well, he doesn’t. Not yet, maybe.”

It was difficult, looking over at Dave’s crushed expression. He kept blinking at his empty mug.

“What hurtful thing did he do, anyway?” Martin poured more tequila into Dave’s mug, but left out the lime juice this time.

Dave sullenly told him the story about Hep at the music shop, and between the lines Martin could sense his underlying jealousy of her. It’d hurt Dave that Alan hadn’t bothered to demarcate the lines of their relationship, to clearly mark out to Hep to stay away, hands off, please. Ironically, Martin himself was on the reverse end of that situation. Andy had never given Grainne such assurances; he’d made it clear that Martin would always have a space in his heart. She hadn’t been happy about it in the beginning, and it was something the three of them continued to wrestle with.

When Dave finished and asked Martin for his opinion, Martin raised his eyebrows at him. “Are you sure you really want to know what I think?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dave reached over for a packet of crisps. His words were already starting to slur a bit, so Martin didn’t have much time left for lucidity.

“The problem isn’t Hep or Alan, it’s you,” Martin said.

“What?” Dave stared at him with a mouth full of crisps.

“She seems completely unaware that the two of you are, well, seeing each other. You can’t blame her for being into him, or whatever it is.” Martin shrugged, stealing some of Dave’s crisps. “And Alan’s done exactly as he promised you. He hasn’t been seeing anyone else - as far as you know, right?”

Dave shook his head. Martin was pretty certain as well; Alan seemed to spend every waking hour with Dave.

“So the way I see it, I think you have these expectations that you want him to meet. But he can’t read your mind, mate.” Martin tapped a stunned Dave’s forehead. “Ask him for a relationship, or call it off. Don’t do this half-arsed thing.”

Dave’s voice was low and quiet. “What if he gets scared off?”

“Then it’s better you find out now, instead of when you’ve fallen madly in love with him.” Martin was reaching for more tequila when he caught the sheepish look on Dave’s face, and a sudden realisation dawned upon him.

“Oh fuck, you’re there already.” Martin let out a long breath. “Wait, I don’t understand. How did you go from dating a string of birds to falling for some sarcastic bloke who is a QPR fan?”

Dave tossed aside the packet of crisps and threw back the rest of his tequila, then signaled for Martin to refill his mug. “Fuck if I know.” He sounded both amused and miserable.

They sat in silence for a while, Martin reeling over that revelation while Dave glumly finished his drink. The anger seemed to have gone out of him, but Martin didn’t much like this quiet, subdued shell that was left of his friend.

“Hey, Mart?”

“Yeah?”

“Since we’re being honest here...” Dave’s gaze dropped away from Martin with the heavy weight of guilt. “Remember a few months ago, when Miffles got out and you went to look for her?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Martin had made Andy grovel for quite a long time with that one. “It was when you were sick, right?”

Now Dave’s entire face was flushed red. “Erm, yeah. I wasn’t sick.”

Martin frowned. “You weren’t?”

Dave buried his face in his hands, but Martin could still make out his muffled words: “Al was behind the door.”

A confused Martin stared at him. “What was he doing there?”

Dave’s hands fell away to reveal his reddened face. “Well, he was, y’know--” Dave held a fist in front of his mouth, bobbing his head and feigning a lump in his cheek.

“Oh my God, Dave!” Martin burst into horrified laughter, shoving him so that he would stop making that lewd gesture. Now Dave was laughing too, tickled by Martin’s obvious mortification. It felt good to see him like this, after watching him stew in misery for the whole day.

“That wasn’t funny, you know.” Martin negated this statement by giggling immediately. “I really wanted to vent about Andy.”

Guilt flooded Dave’s face. “Yeah, I know, mate. Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Martin patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “You came out thirty minutes later to help me look for Miffles anyway. So you’re forgiven.”

“You’re the best, Mart.” Dave gave him a sloppy one-armed hug. He smelled heavily of tequila and lime.

“Though I have to admit,” Martin said with a grin. “I’ll probably never look at Alan the same way again.”

Dave’s smile faded slowly. “Speaking of whom...I guess I should go talk to him, huh?”

Martin just regarded his friend with a sigh. Dave had always been the biggest pessimist among all of them, despite his outwardly unfailing cheeriness. Like Martin, he was drawn to darkness - but Dave could sometimes be consumed by it, if he wasn’t careful. It was up to Martin (and sometimes, Andy and Daryl) to pull his own head out of his arse and make him see things as they really were. But this was going to be really difficult. Martin had never seen Dave so besotted with another person before - not even with Jo.

“Maybe give him some time,” Martin said carefully, tucking his hands under his thighs.

“What, and let him realise he’s better off without me mooning over him?” Dave scoffed. “I should act quickly. Salvage whatever I can before he gets scared off, y’know?”

Martin wisely held his tongue. Privately, he was of the opinion that Alan definitely had strong feelings for Dave as well. They’d all been to Alan’s Clapham flat, which was much cleaner and far more spacious. Which sane person would elect to spend all his time in their cramped little flat instead? Martin had also caught the fond glances Alan would shoot Dave whenever he thought Dave wasn’t looking, the way his face brightened whenever Dave walked into a room. Alan was a reserved person, but as a fellow reserved person who’d spent his whole life observing people (and then writing songs about them), Martin knew how and where to look.

He was also relatively sure that Alan would not have bothered to go through Martin’s compositions as thoroughly as he did if Dave were not important to him. There’d also been that incident at the Thai restaurant where Alan had argued with the staff for 15 minutes because they’d forgotten to leave out the garlic from Dave’s order. It had pissed Andy off tremendously at the time, but Martin had actually thought it was touching Alan was more upset about Dave’s order than he was about accidentally finding meat in his own food.

If Martin were a betting man, he would definitely throw all his chips on Alan and hope for the best. But he knew Dave wasn’t in the mood to believe him now, so he chose his next few words carefully.

“There’s no harm in having a very, er, honest discussion on where you both are right now.” Martin filled both their mugs with more tequila, before sloshing lime juice in. “Just..do me a favour, yeah?”

Dave eyed him warily. “Okay, what?”

“Don’t go in bulldozing him and being all, y’know, _Dave_ about it.” Martin laughed as Dave rolled his eyes. “Say you’re sorry for throwing a strop, and-- that’s it, really. Say as little as possible.”

“Why?” Now Dave was suspicious.

“Just trust me on this.” Martin topped their mugs with a pinch of salt, then handed Dave his. “Let him talk, too.”

Dave accepted the mug with a sigh. “I’ll go see him this weekend. I hope you’re right about this, Mart.”

“I’m always right.” Martin smiled before taking a swig of his own drink.


	2. Andre: Never Let Me Down Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted some hurt/comfort with a sick Dave, and Al taking care of him, but thought it would be interesting to explore this from an outsider POV. Cue our resident DM bodyguard, who makes his first appearance in the Pizza-verse here.
> 
> I can't thank **what_could_have_been** enough for this amazing artwork of [Dave and Martin's conversation in the first chapter of 'Singles'](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/image/622453713379917824). I know I already linked it in 'A Question of Time' but it's so pretty that I can't help linking it again!

Even though he’d been living in the UK for the past three years, Andre was still not used to English people. They were so exceedingly polite, often saying one thing but meaning something else entirely, and it was all masked under that famous self-deprecating English humour. Back home in Germany, it was considered respectful to be direct and honest, so as not to waste anyone’s time. However, Andre had quickly learned - through a few social faux pas - that this was not at all the case here. English people could be surprisingly sensitive.

So when the tattooed guy with earrings had plopped into the seat beside his on the first day of lectures and said, “Hey mate,” to him, Andre had merely nodded back and fully intended to mind his own business. He hadn’t expected the tattooed guy to keep talking to him throughout the lecture. By the end of it, Andre had learnt nothing about visual merchandising but was keenly familiar with where the guy - Dave - had grown up, how many siblings he had and what his most hated food was: garlic.

“See you next week, Andre.” A whistling Dave had gotten up and left the lecture theatre, and Andre was left blinking in his seat, wondering what the hell had just happened.  
  


***  
  


Every week, without fail, Dave would troop into the lecture theatre and make a beeline for the seat beside Andre, plonking himself there and talking like they were old friends. Andre tried everything: changing seats (which didn’t work, because Dave would still come to sit beside him), making sure there were people already sitting next to him (which was also fruitless because Dave could easily charm them into switching with him) and once, he even tried not turning up to class. That last one had backfired on Andre; at the next lecture, Dave had expressed serious concern over his absence and handed over some notes that he’d kept specially for Andre.

Andre felt all guilty all week.

“Is he really that bad?” Fiona always had this really amused look whenever Andre complained to her about Dave’s chattiness. “He just sounds like a really nice bloke who wants to be your friend.”

“I don’t want friends,” Andre grumbled. He was already eight years older than all his peers in uni, and he was also married. All the people in his class - hell, almost the entire campus - seemed like kids to him, only interested in going out binge-drinking every weekend and getting laid, then turning up hungover in class.

“He really seems harmless,” Fiona insisted, kissing the top of his head before rubbing her lipstick off. “Give it a go, yeah?”

Despite her advice, Andre just couldn’t bring himself to agree whenever Dave suggested social activities outside class. He was always pestering Andre to come have lunch with him and someone called ‘Al’, although Andre had absolutely no interest in meeting this guy either, whoever he was. The thought of being surrounded by _two_ Daves at the same time filled him with an abject horror.

As much as Dave’s unwanted friendship annoyed him, Andre wasn’t completely heartless. He nodded listlessly as Dave went on about someone else called Mart and someone else called Fletch, half-tuning him out like how he’d learned to with background noise in the army. He grunted in acknowledgement as Dave showed him photos on his phone of that Al guy, making him briefly wonder about Dave’s sexual orientation. Not that Andre cared either way, but he did notice that since the beginning of the semester, all the appreciative comments Dave had made about the pretty girls in their class had suddenly dried up a few months ago.

Their one-sided ‘friendship’ would have probably gone on that way until the end of the semester if Dave had not insisted on repeatedly inviting him for some housewarming party that sounded really boring and out of the way. “Just pop by for a minute,” Dave kept saying, as a frustrated Andre was trying to listen to the lecturer. “You can meet Al, it’s his--”

It happened that Andre was also in a terrible mood, beleaguered by lack of sleep after a fight with Fiona last night. “Stop asking me,” Andre snapped, exhaustion clamping down the filter between his brain and mouth. “I don’t care about Al, or Mart, or your new flat, or-- just leave me alone and let me study.”

Dave looked stunned and devastated, like Andre had just punched him in the face. “I thought--”

“No, we’re not friends,” Andre growled. By then, the row of students in front of them were starting to throw them curious glances, so Andre kept his head down and pecked at his laptop, trying to ignore his blinding headache as well as Dave’s deafening silence.  
  


***  
  


“You feel bad,” Fiona said, shaking her head as she watched Andre scrubbing at a greasy plate. They’d made up their argument by now, but that didn’t mean she still wasn’t going to make him do the chores as a penance. Well, at least she was helping him with drying duty.

“I don’t know, I guess I snapped,” Andre muttered, wishing he didn’t feel so horribly guilty. All he could think of was Dave’s crestfallen face, the way their classmates were eyeing them in trepidation. Why did it feel like kicking a puppy while it was down?

“Just say sorry,” Fiona suggested, taking the wet plate from Andre when he was done. “Friends fight sometimes, he’ll understand.”

“He’s not my friend,” Andre insisted. However, Fiona’s mouth was doing that funny twist it made whenever she was clearly holding back her disagreement. Thankfully she dropped the matter, and Andre did his best not to think too much about Dave’s hurt expression for the rest of the week.  
  


***  
  


Dave was late for class the following week. Not that Andre was watching out for him or anything; Dave didn’t even look around for Andre, slumping into the nearest available chair near the door. In fact, he seemed unusually pale and queasy, like he was going to throw up at any moment. Frowning to himself, Andre shushed the little concerned voice inside his head and turned his attention back to the lecturer. Andre had wanted Dave to leave him alone, and now he was finally getting what he wanted. So he should be happy. Thrilled, really.

That didn’t stop Andre from throwing occasional glances towards the seats near the door. By now Dave wasn’t even paying attention, his head bent down and resting on the little desk.

By the time the lecture ended, Dave still hadn’t risen from his seat even though the other students were already filing out. Andre pretended his laptop was having trouble, taking his own sweet time to shut down. He could hear someone concerned asking, “Oi Gahan, you alright?” and that worried little voice came back with a vengeance.

Andre sighed, putting away his laptop and picking up his bag before making his way towards where Dave was sitting. One of their classmates was nudging him gently, but Dave wasn’t moving. “He looks really awful,” he told Andre. “Should we call someone?”

Andre thought hard. “I can bring him to the university clinic,” he said, taking out his car keys. “I’ll go bring my car here. Keep an eye on him, ja?”

As the other guy nodded, Andre climbed the theatre stairs two at a time, pushing open the door and emerging into bright daylight. Luckily their lecture theatre was situated next to a car park, so it would be easy enough for Andre to drive in as close as possible.

At the car park, Andre spotted a tall, good-looking man with dark hair waiting by a Vespa. Instead of scrolling through his phone like all the other students idling nearby, the guy was aiming a vintage camera at a nearby sculpture on display and snapping a few pictures. Something about his profile was very familiar, and when he moved the camera away from his face, Andre suddenly remembered where he had seen him before.

Andre walked up to him. “Excuse me,” he asked, a little embarrassed. “Are you, um, Al?”

The man tilted his head at Andre in confusion. “Y-es?”

Andre was so relieved. “You know Dave, right? Dave Gahan?”

Al’s confusion had now sharpened into concern. “Yes, I'm waiting for him. What’s wrong?”

Andre jerked his thumb in the direction of their lecture theatre. “I’m his classmate. I think he’s really sick.”

The colour drained from Al’s face. “Can you bring me to him?”

They rushed into the lecture theatre, and Al’s expression tightened with worry when he saw Dave slumped over his desk. “Hey, it’s me,” Al said in a really tender tone that Andre would not have expected from a guy like him. He was brushing back Dave’s hair. “I’m taking you to the doctor, okay?”

“We can take my car.” Andre didn’t mean to sound so brusque and impatient, but time was of the essence here. He’d had a friend in the army die overnight from undiagnosed meningitis, and the signs were too eerily similar. “I’ll go fetch it now, you two bring him outside.”

“Thank you,” Al said. Andre gave him a curt nod before he headed outside again, relieved that Dave was now in good hands.  
  


***  
  


Andre called Fiona to tell her that he would be late for dinner, assuring her that Dave would be fine and he would update her once he had more news. The guy called Al was handling everything at the university clinic, and their other classmate had left once Dave was registered. Unsure whether to leave too, Andre decided to set up camp at the reception and opened his laptop to put together some notes for Dave so he wouldn’t miss out on this week’s lecture.

Al came out after an hour or so, and he seemed surprised to see Andre still at the clinic’s waiting area. “Are you Andre?” he asked, slipping into a nearby seat but leaving some space between them, which Andre appreciated. Al looked tired and wrought with worry, like he hadn’t slept all night. Andre nodded, unsure what to say.

Al stuck out his hand. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, with all the-- yeah, you know what I mean. I’m Alan,” he said, before adding, “Dave’s boyfriend.”

Andre wasn’t exactly surprised. He shook Alan’s hand with a firm grip. “I know.”

“The doctor says Dave is running a really high fever,” Alan told him. “They’re running some tests, but they put him on a drip and are monitoring him to make sure the fever doesn’t spike. If it does, they’ll send him to hospital. But we’re hoping it comes down, then he’ll be allowed to go home with medication.”

“That’s good,” Andre said, relief loosening his shoulders. He hadn’t realised they’d been tight with tension this whole time.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Alan still looked worried, and Andre didn’t know if Dave had told him the mean things Andre had said last week. In the end, Andre cleared his throat and continued to peck at his laptop. His notes for Dave were almost all cleaned up.

“Thank you for, well, everything,” Alan said sincerely. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I don’t want to keep you--”

“It’s fine,” Andre said gruffly. “I’ll drive you both home later.”  
  


***  
  


It was quite late by the time the doctors discharged Dave. Thankfully his fever had come down and they’d determined it wasn’t meningitis or anything similarly sinister. To Alan’s visible relief, Dave was allowed to go home with lots of medicines and a strict warning to bring him straight to the A&E if his fever peaked again.

Andre drove the two of them home to an address in Brixton, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Dave was slumped against Alan, his head resting on Alan’s shoulders. Alan was absently stroking his hair, peering at the labels on the various packs of medication Dave had been given.

Once they neared a cramped row of houses in Brixton, Andre spotted a tall redhead waiting anxiously on the pavement with a shorter blond curly-haired fellow. “Could you stop here, mate?” Alan asked politely, to which Andre obliged. However, he was stunned when the tall redhead opened his car door without warning, asking Alan, “How is he? Fuck, we were so bloody worried.”

“Help me get him out,” Alan said. Between him and the redhead, they managed to maneuver Dave out of the car, and the guy with blond curls ran to unlock the house doors for them as they carted him inside.

Unsure what to do now, Andre sent Fiona a quick update by text before getting out and neatly packing up both Dave’s and Alan’s bags in the backseat, scooping up their abandoned phones and slipping them into their bags as well. Locking his car, Andre hefted the bags onto his shoulder and hovered outside the door, unsure of his welcome. He could hear low voices inside, Alan updating the other two guys on Dave’s condition. It was probably best to give everyone a few minutes to get Dave settled in; Andre was in no hurry after all.

Eventually it was the blond fellow who noticed Andre outside the door, his eyes widening. “Al, your Uber driver’s here with your bags,” he called out. “Do I pay him?”

An amused Andre tried not to smile as he leveled an even look at the blond guy. “I’m not an Uber driver, little man.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I’m really- Um, sorry.”

“Shut up, Mart,” the tall redhead shushed him, before smiling tiredly at Andre. “Thanks for driving Dave home. Could we get you a drink, mate?”

The penny dropped. These two must be the ‘Mart’ and ‘Fletch’ that Dave sometimes talked about. “It’s fine, I should get going,” Andre said, handing them Dave’s and Alan’s bags. “I’ll come visit tomorrow.”

After an awkward goodbye, Andre got into the car and prepared for the long journey home to Ilford. He found himself hoping against hope that Dave would be okay.  
  


***  
  


Upon Fiona’s advice, Andre brought along her homemade chicken soup, some electrolyte drinks he picked up from Tesco and pastries from his favourite authentic German bakery. Dave seemed like someone who had a sweet tooth, judging from all the candies he munched on during class. Even if he didn’t feel like eating, Andre wagered that Alan would need something for sustenance as well.

Feeling rather foolish as his car came to a stop outside the Brixton house from yesterday, he realised he didn’t even know if he’d be welcome, if Dave wanted to see him in the first place. Steeling his nerves, Andre took a deep breath and got out of the car, fetching his gifts from the backseat. Even if Dave refused to see him, Andre could just leave everything with Alan and disappear after that.

The door was opened by an extremely disheveled Alan, who had mussed hair and deep tired bags under his eyes. However, his smile upon seeing Andre felt genuine. “Hey Andre, I didn’t get to thank you yesterday,” he said warmly, beckoning Andre into the flat.

“No trouble,” Andre said. He nodded at the items he was carrying. “Brought some things for you guys.”

Some deep emotion flickered across Alan’s face before he locked it away. “You really didn’t have to,” he said in a low, grateful voice.

“No trouble,” Andre said again, feeling silly like a parrot. He deposited the items on their coffee table, leaving them next to a stack of audiophile magazines. “Just some food and, uh, Gatorade to help with replenishing the fluids, you know?”

Alan nodded tiredly. “He’s a lot better though,” he said. “Think he’ll be up to the soup, at least. It does smell wonderful.”

“My wife’s famous Jewish family recipe,” Andre told him, making Alan smile.

They chatted in the kitchen for a bit as Alan heated up a bowl of soup to bring in to Dave, then offered Andre some tea, which he politely rejected. He still couldn’t get used to the English habit of drinking copious amounts of tea everyday. However, Alan asked if he wanted some of Dave’s premium coffee stash, which Andre was happy to accept. Alan was very good at small talk, as charming as Dave but in a much more restrained and polite way. Andre could see why they were so suitable for each other.

As Alan brought in the food to Dave, Andre remained in the kitchen, sipping his coffee and looking around in curiosity. He didn’t personally have any gay friends, whether here or back home in Germany, but Alan and Dave seemed like any other two men living together as flatmates. The shelves were labelled ‘Vegetarian’ and ‘Non-Vegetarian’, so Andre guessed Alan must be the one who didn’t eat meat since he didn’t pour out any of the chicken soup for himself. There were several photos on the fridge, so Andre got up and went to have a closer look. There were pictures of Dave with two women who resembled him greatly. Andre remembered hearing stories about Dave’s mother and sister. In another picture, Dave had two younger boys in a combined headlock - his twin brothers, then.

It was quite surreal, putting faces to the many names Dave had mentioned during class. There were photos too of the blond and redhead from yesterday - Mart and Fletch - together with Dave and Alan. Andre smiled at one where they’d all gone to Brighton, posing on the pier with cheesy smiles as Dave gave Fletch bunny ears. There were also photos of Alan performing on stage with another bespectacled man Andre didn’t recognise. In front of them, Dave was singing into a mic, his eyes closed. Andre was surprised. He didn’t know Dave could sing.

“Hey, mate.” Andre turned to see a still pale but much healthier looking Dave in the kitchen doorway, smiling brightly at him. He had a blanket wrapped around him. “Heard you were here.”

Andre couldn’t describe the relief that washed over him. “You look better,” he said a little awkwardly.

“Felt like death yesterday,” Dave admitted. “Al gave me quite a talking-to for dragging myself to class when I was sick.”

Alan appeared from behind Dave with an empty bowl and teacup. “If I had known it was that bad, I wouldn’t have let him out of the house,” he told Andre, depositing the dirty dishes in the sink.

“You worried us,” Andre said a little sharply, as Dave’s eyebrows jumped up. “Don’t do that again.”

Dave nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry man. It was-- yeah, it was stupid of me.”

They stood in silence for a while, interrupted only by the clink of dishes as Alan did the washing. Andre wanted to apologise for the horrible things he’d said to Dave, but the words were all bottled up in his throat. All his life he’d been blunt and direct with people; was he starting to inherit some English sensibilities at last?

“I’m really knackered, so I’m going to head back to bed,” Dave said with a yawn. He blinked at Andre. “Just-- I wanted to thank you, mate. For everything. Al told me what you did.”

“No trouble,” Andre said yet again. “What are friends for?”

Dave didn’t say anything, but he had a funny expression on his face as he stumbled forward, grabbing Andre for a tight hug. Unsure how to react, Andre patted his back soothingly. Behind Dave, Alan was smiling from ear to ear like he was proven right about something. It reminded Andre of Fiona, and he couldn’t help smiling too, still a little confused.

He really didn’t understand English people at all.  
  
  



	3. Dave: Just Can't Get Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to the very lovely [strange_highs_and_strange_lowss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_highs_and_strange_lowss/pseuds/strange_highs_and_strange_lowss) who asked for the very first time Dave called Alan 'Charlie'. I have no idea how the real Dave came up with the nickname, but this is my take on it! This is the first of two (maybe three) Dave POVs. For the others, you'll see scenes set in their future!
> 
> This is also for the equally lovely [Ella_Eule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ella_Eule/pseuds/Ella_Eule) who had requested the same thing! Hope you are safe and well, Ella!

Dave smiled down at his phone. Alan had sent him a Bill Bailey video which poked fun at classical music. Both he and Alan were starting to do this a lot - randomly sending each other silly videos or articles, or sharing funny things they’d overheard or thought of. It had been two weeks since he’d gone to watch Alan perform at Club Bastille; already they were texting each other on a daily basis, and they'd met up more than a handful of times. A small logical part of Dave knew they were probably moving a bit too fast, but the rest of him - the part that was guided by impulse and emotion - very much liked how things were going.

The door swung open. Judging from how Miffles immediately jumped off the sofa beside Dave and darted towards the door, it meant Martin was home. “All right, Mart?” Dave called out, not looking up from his phone.

He heard Martin sigh. “Could you please call Lilian back? She keeps asking me why you’re not replying to her texts.”

Dave frowned. “Who?”

Martin shot him a long-suffering look. “Lilian? Tall blonde from my typography class?”

“Oh, her.” Dave vaguely remembered a quick date at a club, after which he’d brought her home. This had all been before Alan had come along. “Yeah, I’ll text her back.”

“No you won’t,” Martin said matter-of-factly, slinging his bag onto their dining table and plonking himself onto the sofa next to Dave. He didn’t look irritated or annoyed; in fact, he seemed mostly resigned. “If you don’t want to see her anymore, at least just tell her so she’ll stop bothering me in class, yeah?”

Dave hated to admit it, but Martin was right. He needed to be more forthcoming with the girls who were still texting or calling him. Most of them had gotten the hint and moved on to greener pastures, but there were still one or two persistent ones like Lilian who wanted to see him again. It was made worse by the fact that she was Martin’s classmate and would probably keep pestering him about Dave, and Dave knew just how much Martin hated confrontation.

“Andy’s right, this Alan bloke must really be something.” Martin had that knowing, private smile of his as Dave’s face grew warm at the mention of Alan’s name. “You dropped everyone else like a hot potato.”

“Alan’s all right,” Dave said, bristling a bit at how much Mart and Fletch had been observing him - and were probably gossiping about him. He knew Fletch had been extremely gobsmacked when Dave had brought Alan home for the first time after the Club Bastille gig, but Martin hadn’t actually seemed very surprised at all. "We're just getting to be good friends, that's all."

“If you say so.” Martin eyed him skeptically. “Just-- be careful, okay?”

Dave held up his hands in surrender. “C’mon mate, you know I never get in too deep for this kind of thing.” And so far, this had been true for Dave’s social life in uni. He’d never asked anyone for commitment, and in turn they’d all learned not to expect the same from him. It was easier that way, less complicated.

Still, the doubtful expression on Martin’s face made Dave wonder what his friend was so worried about.  
  


***  
  


He had arranged to meet Alan outside the Pret near the Clapham North tube station, where they could grab a coffee together before enjoying the slow walk back to Alan’s flat. Dave liked Alan’s place very much - Alan kept it clean and free of clutter - and had already met his flatmate Flood a few times. He was just as easy-going as Alan himself, and he didn’t seem to mind Dave fiddling curiously with all the recording equipment and various instruments neatly stored in their flat.

Emerging from the underground, Dave tapped his Oyster card and hurried towards the Pret on the high street. As expected, Alan was early and already waiting outside, earphones plugged in as he nodded along to the music. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue polka-dotted buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring his gorgeous forearms. Dave loved Alan’s hands, loved his dexterous, elegant fingers whether they were gliding over a keyboard or skating down Dave’s chest.

Then Alan turned and spotted him, his smile brighter than the sun. Dave waved back, unable to contain his own silly grin.

They were so busy smiling at each other that Alan didn’t notice the little old lady turning around the corner on her mobile scooter, honking loudly at him to get out of the way. Dave was about to shout out a warning to him but it was already too late: her scooter banged into an oblivious Alan, causing him to yelp and tumble onto the pavement, his right hand shooting out to break his fall. Dave sprinted over when he heard Alan’s shout of pain, a passing couple stopping to help him up while the elderly lady flailed in panic.

“Al!” Dave quickly inspected Alan all over for any obvious injuries. Alan was wincing in pain, clutching his right hand to his chest as the couple helped to pick up his scattered belongings. “Where does it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Alan said with a grimace. “It’s just-- my right hand, I think.”

“I’m so sorry!” the pensioner kept saying. She looked genuinely stricken with remorse. “My eyesight is terrible, honestly.”

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Dave assured her. “I’ll bring him to the hospital.”

It was all a bit of a mess after that, with Alan in pain, Dave trying to hail a taxi and the helpful couple trying to scoop up Alan’s things. All of them were also trying to calm down the poor old lady who kept apologising to Alan, and Dave was frankly grateful to finally get into a cab for the nearest hospital, which was St Thomas.

There was a long queue in the outpatient clinic, and poor Alan was clearly gritting his teeth and bearing the pain in silence. Dave could only rub his back soothingly and murmur words of encouragement to him, hoping that Alan’s swollen and reddened wrist wasn’t as bad as it looked.

When it was finally their turn, the harried receptionist told them to fill out some forms so they’d be sorted into the queue to see the doctor. As Alan wasn’t able to write now, he handed his wallet to Dave. “Think I might need your assistance on this one,” he said, cheeks a little flushed. Dave had the feeling Alan wasn’t a bloke used to asking for help.

“Sure thing, mate.” Taking the pen from the receptionist, Dave flipped open Alan’s wallet to slide out his driver’s licence. His eyebrows jumped up when he saw Alan’s full name.

“Is your middle name really Charles?” Dave blurted out. “As in ‘Prince Charles’?”

The flush in Alan’s cheeks reddened even more. In front of them, the receptionist rolled her eyes and leaned over to answer one of the many ringing phones surrounding her.

“Dave--” Alan said with a wince, nodding towards the forms.

“Right, sorry, sorry.” Dave dutifully started writing, eyebrows shooting upwards again when he learned that Alan was three years older than him. Dave had assumed that they were around the same age. Not that it mattered to him, of course. Alan’s birthday was almost a month after his, in June. Dave stored that information away for later reference.

Once the forms were filled, Alan was told to wait until his name was called. Dave went to get him some water from a dispenser, handing it to Alan who downed it with a grimace.

“Sorry,” Alan said with a sigh, nodding towards his busted wrist. “Pretty sure this wasn’t how you wanted to spend your Sunday afternoon, eh?”

Dave smiled consolingly at him, rubbing his thigh. “I dunno, I planned on spending it with a hot musician bloke.” He tilted his head questioningly at Alan. “Do you know any you could introduce me to?”

At least this made Alan smile a little as he gently kicked at Dave’s foot. “Make fun of my pain, why don’t you?”

Dave laughed as he squeezed Alan’s thigh. “Wanker.”

“Not tonight, though.” Alan mournfully held up his right hand.

Leaning in, Dave whispered in his ear, “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to help you out in that department, yeah?”

Alan’s smile turned mischievous, which made Dave laugh all over again.  
  


***  
  


They waited a good two hours before Alan was finally called to see the doctor. He’d emerged from her office with a bandaged wrist, a prescription for pain meds and a doctor’s note excusing him from classes for a week. Alan stopped by the front desk to thank the receptionist for her help, and she’d blushed prettily under the full force of Alan’s polite charm. Quieting down the little whispers of jealousy in his brain, Dave called for an Uber to take them both to Alan’s place.

Wrapping a plastic bag around his bandaged wrist, Alan went to take a shower while Dave popped into the cafe downstairs to get them sandwiches. Not quite the date they’d planned for, but Dave was glad that he had been there for Alan at such a crucial time. He was supposed to meet Daryl and his girlfriend Alison for dinner later, but he sent an apologetic text to cancel, in case Alan still needed his help.

In the middle of plating the sandwiches and brewing a fresh pot of tea, Martin’s words of caution from a few days ago popped up in Dave’s mind, unbidden. Dave tried not to think about how easily he’d cancelled his dinner plans with his friends in a heartbeat, how he’d ignored the little darts of jealousy when Alan had thanked the receptionist. He and Alan weren’t even properly dating yet. What was wrong with him?

“Dave?” he heard Alan calling for him outside.

Startled out of his thoughts, Dave brought out the tea and sandwiches to the living room. Alan was sitting on the sofa, his hair still damp from his shower. He’d obviously pulled on the most convenient clothes, which were a pair of track bottoms and faded black t-shirt, but they were still slightly askew. He smiled up at Dave, and Dave couldn’t help thinking Alan looked beautiful, even like this with his rumpled clothes and hair, holding out his hand like an injured kitten with its paw.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Dave kept himself busy with pouring out tea for Alan and getting a cushion for his wrist to rest on. He talked about the silliest things to take Alan’s mind off his pain, like the budgie his mother used to keep in the kitchen that loved to perch on their shoulders whenever they washed the dishes. He talked about a surly German bloke in his class whom he was pretty sure had killed people before in the army. He talked about wanting to start painting again after stumbling upon a biography of Hieronymus Bosch in the campus library. Alan listened to it all and asked questions here and there, seemingly content to listen to Dave chatter on the whole day.

After they’d finished eating, Dave stuffed a cushion behind Alan’s back and fetched him a glass of water. “Take your pain meds,” Dave ordered him, as Alan’s mouth crooked up in a smile.

“You know what else I heard helps to manage pain?” Alan said.

“What?” Dave asked, bending over Alan to shove another cushion behind him.

“Endorphins.” Alan tugged Dave’s shirt down with his good hand, catching his mouth in a surprise kiss.

Laughing at Alan’s deviousness, Dave kissed him back for a long moment before reluctantly pulling away. “C’mon mate, no way I’m doing anything that may hurt your hand,” he chided Alan, before picking up Alan’s boxes of medication. “Now take your medicine like a good lad.”

Alan affected a grumpy expression. “You’re the worst nurse ever,” he muttered, as Dave kicked at his foot before taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

Glancing out the kitchen window as he did the washing up, Dave realised it was already dark. They’d been talking so much and enjoying each other’s company to the extent that Dave hadn’t noticed the time. His hands slowed down a little as it dawned upon him that Alan might want him to leave so he could get some rest, now that he’d been fed and watered.

Dave didn’t like the thought at all.

Alan was examining his boxes of meds as Dave came back out and plopped down next to him on the sofa again. “So,” Dave said with a heavy heart. “You all sorted then?”

To his surprise, Alan was frowning a little at him. “Oh, you have to go?”

Now it was Dave’s turn to frown. “No, not really.”

Alan’s cheeks took on the same pink tinge that had appeared when they’d been at the hospital, even though his expression remained the same. “Would be nice if you stayed for a bit,” he said a little too casually.

Dave couldn’t hold back the smile growing on his face. “Yeah? Thought you were sick of me prattling on the whole day.”

Alan pretended to make a face. “Yeah, a little bit.” He honest to God giggled - giggled! - when Dave huffed at him and smacked the back of his head. The pain meds were probably starting to kick in. “What can I say? You’ve got a nice voice.”

Dave couldn’t help laughing. “Now I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Don’t be. Insulted, I mean.” Alan gave him a lazy, affectionate smile. “If I insult you, it means I like you.”

“Then you must like me very much,” Dave said, as Alan’s laughter echoed throughout the flat.  
  


***  
  


Somehow Alan had deviously conned Dave into bed with him, where they were both panting and sweaty after an excruciatingly careful handjob from Dave. After Alan had gasped his orgasm into Dave’s mouth, Dave had pushed away his fumbled attempts to bring Dave off with his left hand. It was enough to rub off on Alan’s firm, pale stomach, Alan sucking on the tip of his tongue while Dave came all over both their chests and thighs. Sacrificing his shirt for clean up duty, Dave borrowed Alan’s David Lynch t-shirt for something to wear. They were starting to do that now, nicking each other’s clothes whenever they’d ended up staying over.

“I can’t believe you’re older than me,” Dave murmured. His brain-to-mouth filter, already tenuous at the best of times, tended to self-destruct after a good climax.

Alan opened one lazy grey-blue eye at him. “Are you calling me a cradle robber?”

“Bloody right I am.” Dave dodged Alan’s retaliatory whack on his chest. “Our birthdays are quite near though.”

Alan lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? When’s yours?”

“9 May.” Dave started tracing Alan’s nipple with an errant finger. “Yours is 1 June, right?”

Alan let out a sigh. “Knew it was a mistake, letting you see my licence.”

“I still can’t believe your middle name is Charles,” Dave said with a cackle, as Alan groaned. “It sounds so...posh and stuck up. So unlike you, y’know?”

Alan had both his eyes closed again. “Now _I’m_ the one not knowing whether to be flattered or insulted,” he said a little sleepily, stretching out with a little yawn. Alan really did remind Dave of a cat at times.

“Just saying ‘Charles’ doesn’t quite suit you, mate.” Dave thought about it for a while. Alan’s cool and calm exterior belied a warmth and an easy affection for those who meant the most to him. Dave found himself wishing he would one day fall into this category. “Maybe-- what about Charlie?”

Alan’s eye shot open again. “That’s...actually not half bad.”

“Charlie’s nice. Sounds like a mate who’ll have your back proper, right?” Dave stroked back Alan’s hair, pleased when he leaned into Dave’s touch.

“It does.” Alan reached out with his left hand to tug Dave closer. “C’mon, the meds are making me sleepy. Stay the night, yeah?”

Nodding, a pleased Dave folded himself easily against Alan’s relaxed body, making sure his wrist was resting on a pillow before he slid an arm around Alan’s waist. He already seemed to be asleep, so Dave pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“G’night, Charlie.”  
  
  
  



	4. Fletch: Policy of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to pinksyndicate who drew this wonderful artwork of the scene in the previous chapter [where Dave finds out Alan's middle name is Charles](https://pinksyndication.tumblr.com/post/626821879320231936/hrhsvhdtg-i-did-it-and-its-not-half-bad). I LOVE THIS LIKE BURNING, THANK YOU MO!

It was Fletch’s idea to leave earlier, as traffic in the Greater London area always became increasingly horrific leading up to Christmas. Once Alan managed to get time off work, the rest of them ditched their last few classes for the semester and piled into Martin’s car to head home to Basildon for the holidays.

Fletch was actually a little surprised that Alan was coming with them instead of spending Christmas with his own family, but he’d heard Martin mentioning that Alan’s parents hadn’t taken it too well when he’d first told them about Dave. Fletch hadn’t wanted to pry too much, but he could somewhat sympathise. His own church-loving mum would probably have a fit if she ever found out that Fletch and Martin were a little more than just best mates. Considering that Alan’s and Dave’s relationship was far more serious, Fletch could well imagine the tears and drama that had ensued in the Wilder household.

Fletch couldn’t resist glancing at Alan in the rear-view mirror now. He and Dave were leaning against each other, watching some video on Dave’s phone and wearing one earbud each. Dave kept bursting into delighted laughter, while Alan just smiled and shot him these really sappy side glances that Fletch would have never imagined him to be capable of.

It was no secret that Fletch had thought Alan was a cold fish during the first few weeks of their acquaintance. Alan was very quiet and kept to himself most of the time, and Fletch had the feeling that he and Mart were being tolerated only because Alan wanted to spend time with Dave. But as time wore on, Alan had more than proven his worth, as far as Fletch was concerned. The first thawing of the ice was when he’d played Mart’s songs for him, leaving Martin on cloud nine for days. Alan had also helped Fletch out without question when they had been stranded at Vauxhall on Dave’s birthday, and ever since then Fletch had finally learned what Dave and Mart had seen in Alan all along. Alan was steadfast, reliable and loyal to a fault. Fletch could easily appreciate anyone who put as much stock in loyalty as he did.

“How much longer to Bas?” Alan asked, glancing out of the window.

They were already turning onto the A127. “Not long now,” Martin assured him, his hands on the wheel. “Maybe another fifteen minutes.”

“You ever been?” Fletch asked Alan. “To Bas, that is.”

“First time,” Alan replied. He had a long-suffering look on his face that indicated it probably would have never occurred to him to visit the place if it weren’t for the fact that it was Dave’s hometown.

“Oh, you’re going to love it, mate.” Fletch exchanged a mischievous grin with Martin.  
  


***  
  


After settling in with their respective families for a day or so, Dave texted their group chat and suggested that they all bring Alan to Southend Pier on Christmas Eve to let him enjoy the festivities there. Fletch was more than agreeable; he quite liked the rides at Adventure Island, even if Martin always remarked that they were too cheesy and more suited for kids. But in the end Martin agreed to follow them anyway; Fletch knew Martin would grab any opportunity to avoid the chaos and drama back home.

In the late afternoon, they all piled into Martin’s car for the twenty minute drive there, Alan and Dave chuckling over their own daft inside jokes in the backseat while Fletch sat in the passenger seat, watching Mart a little worriedly. Martin seemed much quieter than usual, getting easily distracted until either Dave or Fletch had to point out to him at times that he was going the wrong way. Fletch didn’t know what was wrong, but he expected that it wouldn’t be long until Martin would confide in him.

Once they paid for admission at the pier and the amusement park, Dave tugged Alan aside and whispered something in his ear. When Alan nodded, Dave cleared his throat. “Is it all right if me and Al went off on our own for a bit?” he asked Fletch and Martin. “I just wanted to show him some of the places I used to hang out at.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Fletch said, checking his watch. “So, we’ll meet back here in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” Alan said before he was dragged away by Dave. Fletch watched them go off together, already hand in hand.

Martin was still being oddly quiet, his brows knitted together in distress. Martin always had very sad eyes, which was at odds with how much he liked to laugh. How Fletch loved his laugh, which was always bright and sudden and surprisingly loud. After so many years, Fletch could easily pick out Martin’s unique laugh in a very crowded room.

“Up for some disgusting carnival food and drink?” Fletch suggested, just to lighten the mood.

At least it made Martin smile a little. “Yeah sure, why not?”

They bought overpriced popcorn and fizzy drinks from one of the vendors, while Fletch also bought a sausage roll. Martin barely touched the food, which made Fletch even more concerned than the lack of conversation. They were used to sharing easy silences, but this time Fletch couldn’t quite stem the growing dread in his gut, afraid that something was wrong.

To his surprise, it was Martin who spoke first, his gaze fixed on something high above him: “Shall we go on that?”

Fletch turned to look. It was the Ferris wheel that he used to ride with his sisters when they were younger, but he’d grown out of it a long time ago. Still, it wasn’t unusual for adults to ride the wheel, as sitting in the carriage and staring at the evening sky was quite romantic. It’d been a while since he and Martin had so much as kissed, so the prospect of it cheered Fletch immensely. “Sure, why not?” he said, taking out his wallet to pay for the ride.

As it was Christmas Eve and nearing the end of operation hours, there wasn’t quite a long queue for the Ferris wheel. They climbed into a carriage, Fletch taking care to tuck his legs in before the bored ride operator shut the safety clamp along with the door. Fletch sighed in contentment as the carriage slowly swung upwards, halting every now and then to let more passengers into the bottom carriages. “This is nice,” Fletch said, curling an arm around Martin’s shoulders. He was surprised when Martin flinched. “What’s wrong?”

Martin sighed, staring up at the darkening sky. The clouds were gloomy and forbidding, which meant snow either today or tomorrow. “You know this-- this _thing_ we’re doing?” he said hesitantly, gesturing between himself and Fletch.

“Yeah?” Fletch could feel something in his stomach sinking. He retracted his arm, which somehow seemed to make Martin even more miserable.

“I know Grainne’s been okay with it,” he went on, talking to the metal railing of their carriage. “And I always appreciated it, y’know? That you made space for me.”

“It’s what I do,” Fletch said honestly. _And it’s what I’ll always do,_ he thought.

“But--” Martin’s face was pinched and unhappy here. “Fuck, this isn’t easy, An.”

Fletch’s hands, even though they were nicely tucked into his favourite woolen gloves, now felt like ice. “Just go ahead and say it,” he said a little too sharply, making Martin wince.

The carriage was now rising to the top, where the wind was hitting their faces and whistling around the metal railings. Martin visibly took a deep breath before he said the words Fletch had been expecting for a while now: “I’ve met someone.”

Fletch sat back, watching Martin closely. This had never gotten in the way before. After his first girlfriend Anne, Martin had dated around but he’d always continued fooling around with Fletch nonetheless. Sure, Fletch had difficulty dealing with his jealousy sometimes, but it was either having Martin on these terms or not having him at all.

Now, it seemed he would need to accept that it would be the latter. “And?” Fletch asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“She’s a German exchange student,” Martin said quietly. “Her name is Christina.”

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“A few weeks, almost a month,” Martin replied. Fletch was floored that Martin could keep a secret of this magnitude from him for that long.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Fletch didn’t know why he felt so betrayed.

“I mean, you were busy with exams, and Grainne,” Martin said in a rush. “And I wasn’t sure if I was serious about Christina yet.”

“And now you are?” It hurt to ask, but Fletch just had to. It hurt even more when Martin nodded without hesitation.

“She was supposed to come back with me to Bas for Christmas. I told her about you and me, and she didn’t like it. We had a massive row.” Martin ran a hand through his curls. “Yesterday I talked to her again on the phone. So, long story short, if I want to keep her--”

“Yeah, I get it.” Fletch knew he sounded hurt and petulant, but somehow he’d known that this would happen someday. He just hadn’t realised it would be this fast, this sudden.

Martin was now turning to face him, his eyes broadcasting his sadness. “You’re still my best mate,” he said gently. “I still love you, An. That doesn’t change.”

“I know.” Unable to bear the weight of Martin’s misery in addition to his own, Fletch tore his gaze away, staring down at the people below them, strolling along the pier. They were all so happy, laughing and cheerful and enjoying themselves, oblivious to the unhappiness sixty metres above them. Fletch could even spot Dave and Alan walking together, sharing a bucket of popcorn before Dave suddenly took a handful and stuffed it down the back of Alan’s jacket, running off gleefully as a laughing and outraged Alan chased after him. Their levity and closeness filled Fletch with a sick, green envy.

“I mean it.” Martin’s voice dragged Fletch out of his fugue. He blinked to find Martin’s gloved hand on top of his, warm and comforting. “You’ll always be in my life, An.”

The most Fletch could offer him was a weak smile. At least he felt marginally better when Martin leaned forward and pressed his chapped, chilly lips against Fletch’s, probably for the last time.  
  


***  
  


Christmas was very much the noisy, drawn-out affair that Fletch had expected it to be. His mother seemed to be cooking non-stop from morning to night. As expected, she’d insisted on all of them marching to church first thing on Christmas morning, and all the other parishioners had asked Fletch about life in London (“very exciting”) and whether he missed Bas (“I missed Mum’s cooking”). They all asked him about Grainne, and Fletch had to explain that she was holidaying with her family in Spain. A few more nosy parishioners asked him why he hadn’t gone with her, but he’d just laughed off the question.

He was glad neither Martin nor his family were at the church services. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep up a cheerful front if he’d had to face Martin the whole day.

However, he wasn’t able to avoid Martin much longer. As per tradition, Dave’s mother invited everyone to her house on Boxing Day for food and merriment, and every year he and Martin had always attended without fail. Fletch had considered faking a stomach upset or something to avoid everyone, but he also wanted to prove to Martin that he was getting on fine, that this was a tiny blip in their friendship and not the cavernous pit that was threatening to swallow Fletch whole. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Mrs Gahan, who always made her plum pudding especially for Fletch as he could devour seconds and thirds of it without shame. So he agreed to go, and when he saw Martin at the Gahans’, they exchanged a strained smile before they joined Vince and Daryl’s animated conversation about the sad state of the premiership.

It was easy enough to distract himself with football talk and Mrs Gahan’s wonderful cooking, but of course Fletch noticed when Martin got a video call during dessert, his face lighting up immediately. Craning his neck out of curiosity, Fletch got a glimpse of a pretty woman with a blonde ponytail on Martin’s phone screen, his stomach dropping when he realised who it was.

“That reminds me, I’ll be right back,” Fletch told Daryl and Vince. “Gotta make a phone call to Grainne.”

“Go on, then,” Vince said with a grin, while Daryl made a whipping sound.

Rolling his eyes at their laughter, Fletch wandered out to the back porch, sitting on the steps as he huddled in his jacket. Snow was starting to flutter down from the overcast skies, flakes of it landing on his glasses. He took out his phone, scrolling to Grainne’s number and tapping the ‘Call’ button. It went straight to her voice message, which meant she must be at the beach with her family. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, reminding himself to try again later.

Thinking back to the Martin situation, Fletch wasn’t even sure how he felt. Empty? Bereft? It wasn’t as though he’d lost Martin proper, since they were still friends. He took off his spectacles, wiping them with his sleeve.

Behind him, he heard the door swinging open, followed by approaching footsteps. Slipping on his glasses again, he was surprised to find it was Alan who had come out onto the porch, eyeing him a little hesitantly. He had an unlit cigarette in one hand, Dave’s flashy Zippo in the other. “Er, should I--” Alan started, pointing back towards the way he came.

“No, not at all.” Fletch patted the space beside him. “Could use the company, if I’m being honest.”

Visibly reassured, Alan perched on the step beside Fletch and went about lighting his cigarette. They sat in silence for a while, Fletch moodily pulling on the ends of his hair while Alan let out long streams of smoke. “Alright?” Alan asked, calm and steady as ever.

“Mart and I--” Fletch hesitated here, not even knowing how to complete the sentence. Could it be considered a break-up if they’d never even been together in the first place?

Thankfully, Alan seemed to get the picture, wincing as he nodded in understanding. “Yeah, we thought so,” he said, before clarifying, “Me and Dave, I mean.”

Fletch blinked owlishly at him. “How did you...?”

“You and Mart seemed awfully quiet after you both came off the Ferris wheel,” Alan explained, before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke away from Fletch’s direction. “And, you know, the atmosphere in the car ride back was a bit gloomy. Dave said he’d attended cheerier funerals.”

Even as Fletch rolled his eyes, he wasn’t exactly surprised that Alan and Dave had picked up on the changes between him and Martin. “Yeah, so-- it’s over.” Saying the words out loud, even to Alan, gave them a weight and depth that had been previously absent. Fletch no longer felt numb, because it all felt real now. He was never going to get to kiss Martin again, to hold hands and touch him intimately and drape himself all over Martin like he was used to doing. The thought pricked Fletch’s eyes, and he quickly turned away from Alan.

Alan, for his part, didn’t seem to want to prod or make fun. Fletch shut his eyes until they stopped burning, then he shook his head with a grimace. When he turned back, Alan was still sitting beside him, staring into the distance.

“It’s never easy,” Alan finally said. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Fletch didn’t know how to respond. How could Alan possibly understand? Alan had Dave now, the two of them seemingly inseparable, ironclad. They would probably continue to have each other for a ridiculously long time, whereas Fletch and Martin had never even really taken off in the first place. It was tempting to blame Grainne and Christina, of course, but deep down Fletch knew his own cowardice was at fault. He’d wanted to keep both Grainne and Martin, and he’d believed his little juggling act could have gone on forever, as long as he had enough hands for both of them.

“It was my fault,” Fletch said suddenly, staring into the distance as well. In their line of sight were blocks of council flats; from them wafted the mixed smells of turkey and ham and curry and jerk chicken, the happy laughter of celebrating families. One day, Fletch thought, he’d be celebrating with Grainne and their own kids, in their own house. He was certain Martin would be there too - with his own wife and kids, maybe. But it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that he still had Mart. The thought brought him more comfort that he’d liked to admit.

He’d almost forgotten Alan was there until he heard Alan clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” Alan said. “Still an awful feeling all around, yeah?”

Fletch nodded morosely. It felt like Alan was giving him permission to be a moody bastard, and for now, that was all Fletch wanted.

They sat there in companionable silence, during which Fletch could hear Alan lighting another cigarette. “Hope that’s not Dave rubbing off on you,” Fletch said, startling a laugh out of Alan.

“I started smoking way before I met him,” Alan informed him. He was now eyeing his cigarette distastefully. “But now that you mention it-- yeah, it’s gotten worse since we got together.”

Fletch made a non-committal noise. He was still thinking of the way Martin had looked on top of that Ferris wheel, the wind ruffling through his curls, his already sad eyes even more morose. “It’s the only thing though, right?” Fletch found himself saying, just for the sake of conversation.

“What is?”

“The only bad thing,” Fletch clarified. “Otherwise, you two seem to be really good for each other.”

The corner of Alan’s mouth tugged up into a smile. “I _am_ shockingly happy,” he admitted a little bashfully.

“I’ve never seen Dave this happy too, it’s sickening,” Fletch said as Alan laughed. “Me and Mart honestly thought he was the sort who’d only settle down in his thirties or forties.”

Alan was now regarding him with an unreadable look. “‘Settle down’?” he repeated.

“Well yeah, you know.” Fletch gestured vaguely back towards the noisy house, “I mean, you two moved in together, you’ve met each other’s families-- that’s pretty serious, no?”

Alan’s smile faded. “My parents weren’t exactly thrilled.”

Curiosity was stirring within Fletch’s chest, making him forget his misery for once. “Yeah, what happened with that exactly?”

Alan took a deep drag of his cigarette. “I’ve got two older brothers,” he said, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “One of them teaches in Finland. Anyway, he came back to the UK for a visit a while ago, so my mother organised a family dinner. My brothers were bringing their wives, so I brought Dave.”

“Who looks nothing like a wife,” Fletch pointed out, which made Alan smile a little bitterly.

“Yeah, precisely. My mother was surprised, but at least she treated Dave like a regular guest. My dad? Rudely ignored Dave the entire meal, then later took me aside and asked me if bringing him was my idea of a joke.” Alan stubbed out his cigarette on the step vehemently. “My mum was a little kinder, but she still kept asking if it was a ‘phase’ I was going through.”

Fletch shook his head in commiseration. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah, exactly mate.” Alan was now moodily flicking the Zippo lighter on and off. “Dave was really good about it, he told me it didn’t matter to him. But of course it must hurt him, y’know? His family’s been so lovely to me. And I want the same for him.”

“They’ll come around,” Fletch assured him. “My dad liked Grainne just fine, but it took ages for my mum to warm up to her. Now they’re best friends and like to gang up on me whenever I bring her home.”

Alan smiled, snapping the lighter closed. “So you think you’re going to marry her, then?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” It was something Fletch had always instinctively known, like how he’d always wanted to have a career in finance, or how he and Mart would be friends for life. “Same for you and Dave, yeah?”

Alan regarded Fletch with a considering look. It reminded him of the first few awkward weeks of their friendship, which had started off on shaky legs because he’d accidentally gotten Alan fired from his pizza job. Now they had both come so far from that, so Fletch didn’t know if Alan still thought Fletch wasn’t trustworthy enough.

“It’s still early days,” Alan eventually said, his voice quiet. “We haven’t even been together a year yet.”

Fletch held up a hand. “S’alright mate, don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that,” Alan said quickly, which eased the tightness in Fletch’s chest. “I’m a planner, y’know? I always like to be two steps ahead, just so nothing surprises me.”

Fletch thought he understood. “And Dave surprised you.”

A brilliant smile bloomed on Alan’s face. “In the best way possible.”

Then it suddenly dawned on Fletch why Alan had been so reluctant to talk. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Fletch; the bastard had probably already planned out the rest of his life with Dave - every single step - and he may not have wanted to speak too prematurely on the off chance that things might get jinxed or go sour. Fletch was willing to bet that even Dave probably had no idea these plans existed.

“Fair enough,” Fletch said airily, which made Alan flash him a grateful smile. “Got any more cigs on you?”

They were almost done with their cigarettes and arguing about Chelsea’s latest match when the door swung open, Dave poking his head out. “There you lot are,” he exclaimed, thumping over to them and nicking his Zippo lighter back from Alan as he squeezed onto the step beside them. “Al, my mum’s looking for you. She found the album with my baby pictures.”

Alan’s expression turned gleeful. “Best Christmas present ever,” he told Fletch, while Dave nudged him with fake grumpiness. Alan made as if to get up, but Dave yanked him down again.

“Oh no, you don’t. I spent the last hour being smothered by my various aunts and missing you terribly, you’re not going anywhere.” Dave’s complaint was topped off with a pacifying kiss from a grinning Alan, so Fletch didn’t think Dave minded too much.

“Your lips are cold.” Dave rubbed his thumb gently at Alan’s mouth, as if to warm him up. “How long have you two been sat out here? It’s bloody freezing.”

“Dunno, really.” Alan smiled at Fletch. “But Andy and I had a good talk.”

“Oh?” Dave’s eyes flitted between both of them, bright and curious. “Was it about--”

“Yeah, it was about Mart,” Fletch said with a sigh. When Dave raised his eyebrows, Fletch just sadly shook his head.

“Ah, that sucks, man.” Dave reached over, patting Fletch sympathetically on the knee.

“It’ll be fine,” Fletch said. “We’re still mates and all that.”

The creak of the door and more footsteps made all of them turn around. It was Martin, looking a little uncertain as he gave them a sheepish smile. “Was wondering where all of you had run off to,” he said, tucking his hands under his armpits before he looked up at the sky. “Oh, it started snowing.”

“Yeah, we were enjoying it,” Fletch nudged Alan and Dave. “Oi, you two move down and make space for Mart.”

“How rude,” Alan said, while Dave stuck out his tongue at Fletch. Still, they did as he asked, so Fletch looked up at Martin and patted the seat beside him. He could sense that Martin felt left out, his mouth tugged down at the corners as he hovered uncertainly behind them.

“C’mon Mart,” he said. When Martin came to sit beside him without hesitation, Fletch slid an arm around him for warmth. This time, Martin did not flinch, flashing Fletch his loveliest, warmest smile.

Maybe things were going to be alright after all.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I had Fletch refer to himself as 'Andy' in his own POV, but the repeated use of 'Andy' and 'Alan' (especially during their long convo) was getting intermingled a bit so I changed it to 'Fletch'.


	5. Dave: Lie to Me

Dave had always been a big fan of Valentine’s Day. With past girlfriends, he’d made sure to pull out all the stops: flowers, chocolates and presents, topped off by a big candlelit dinner. Sue had always accused him of being a die-hard romantic. Despite Dave’s constant denials, he’d always known that deep down, his sister was right.

So when it came to his first Valentine’s Day with Alan, Dave hadn’t known what to expect. First of all, did blokes have different expectations when it came to Valentine’s Day? And more importantly, Alan was far too practical a person to invest much time and thought in something he might deem too 'commercial'.

Dave’s suspicions were confirmed when they were over at Mart’s and Fletch’s flat for dinner one evening, and Fletch had asked for ideas on where to take Grainne for Valentine’s Day, which was coming up in two weeks. “I don’t want to do a fancy dinner again, she’s going to be bored,” Fletch explained over a mouthful of pasta.

“What about taking her for a show in the West End?” Dave suggested.

Fletch shook his head. “She hates musicals. Any ideas, Alan?”

Alan didn’t seem particularly enthused. “Not really. I’ve never celebrated it.”

Everyone stopped eating to stare at him, including Dave. “Never? Not even once?” Martin asked, blinking in surprise.

Shrugging, Alan returned to his pasta. “Always thought it was a commercial holiday cooked up by greeting card companies,” he said, after which there was a slight awkward lull.

“It can be meaningful.” Martin was twisting his linguine around his fork as his eyes shifted over to Dave, who was increasingly uncomfortable. “If the person you’re with really values the holiday.”

“My ex-girlfriend believed in all that astrological bollocks, but not V Day,” Alan explained. “So I’ve never really had the-- um, inclination to celebrate it.”

“Dave celebrates it,” Fletch said candidly, looking between the two of them. “Always made a big fuss of it, yeah?”

Dave resisted the urge to dump his plate of linguine over Fletch’s head. “C’mon lads, you heard Al,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “So he doesn’t celebrate it. No big deal, right?”

Fletch opened his mouth, looking as though he were about to say something else when Martin discreetly nudged him with a quiet cough. They fell into an awkward silence, interrupted only by the clink of plates and cutlery until Martin brought up last night’s Arsenal match, which Alan and Fletch turned into a spirited debate about the premiership. As with all occasions concerning football talk, Dave drifted off into his own thoughts, wondering if he should still go ahead with his plans to wine and dine Alan for Valentine’s Day. If Alan put no stock in it, then maybe it might be a waste of his time.

He mulled over it all the way until they returned to their own flat across the hall, Alan digging in his pockets for their keys. “You alright?” Alan asked him, a hand cupping Dave’s elbow in concern.

“Yeah, just tired.” Dave managed to muster a small smile for him, although Alan didn’t quite look convinced.

“Are you sure? You--” Alan stopped rummaging in his pockets, huffing in frustration. “Fuck, I think I left my phone at Mart’s and Fletch’s. Could you--”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dave fished out his own keys, unlocking the door as he tried to swallow down the disappointment of the evening. “Go on, then. I’ll see you in a bit.”  
  


***  
  


Over the next week, neither of them brought up Valentine’s Day again. Alan was swamped with work, as Flood had taken on a new recording project and brought on Alan as his co-producer. Dave was also busy with his final year projects, even though he’d sort of lost his passion for visual merchandising halfway through uni. He was looking forward to graduation only because he wanted to make his mum proud; so many people had told her that he would most likely end up in prison, and he was determined to prove all of them wrong. Also, he wanted to start working a proper job so he could pay his share for the flat with Alan, along with all the related household expenses.

It was a little strange, navigating this shift from being a mere uni student to proper adulthood. He decided that Alan was the catalyst for this, because he might have never thought about finishing school, renting his own flat and settling in London if it weren’t for their relationship. Alan seemed to be taking it all very seriously as well, accepting as many projects as he could just so he could save up for their future together. Dave had no idea what Alan had planned, but he imagined they’d get to talking about it later down the road.

So in the grand scheme of things, Dave found it hard to mind that Alan didn’t care about Valentine’s Day when he clearly cared more about their life together. In fact, Dave decided that it didn’t mean he couldn’t do something big and grand for Alan anyway, even if it wouldn’t be reciprocated. All he really wanted, above all else, was for Alan to spend time with him.

One night, when Alan was working late, Dave snuck over to Martin’s and Fletch’s place to enroll their help. “So I want to plan something nice for Al for Valentine’s Day,” he announced, while they were sorting out takeaway boxes from the local chip shop.

He didn’t miss the wary looks Martin and Fletch shot each other. “Didn’t you hear what Mr Valentine Grinch said the other day?” Fletch said. “Something about how V Day was cooked up by evil corporations?”

Dave waved him away dismissively. “Yeah, yeah I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something nice for him. Just because I want to, y’know?”

“I don’t know, Dave.” Martin looked very uneasy. “I think that was his way of letting you down gently, you know? I don’t think he would like it at all.”

Sighing, Dave took the box of chips Fletch handed him and dumped curry sauce a little too forcefully all over it. “I know-- I mean, there’s nothing wrong with doing something nice for my boyfriend, right? Jesus, all I asked for was a little advice.”

Dave grudgingly ate in silence for a while, but he could sense Martin and Fletch having a wordless conversation behind his back. They must have given up trying to convince him because Martin took a seat opposite him, flashing him an apologetic smile. “So what were you thinking of, then?”

Dave told them about his plans for an early dinner, followed by tickets for the London Philharmonic who were performing with Phillip Glass for two nights only at the Royal Albert Hall. It wasn’t really Dave’s type of music, but he knew how much Alan fucking _loved_ Philip Glass so he was willing to sit through two hours of that.

It seemed like a brilliant idea on the surface, so Dave was surprised when both Martin and Fletch were more concerned than anything else. “You already bought the tickets?” Fletch asked, wincing when Dave nodded. “Were they very expensive?”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s worth it for Charlie.” Dave just didn’t understand why his friends couldn’t be at least a little supportive in this. “You know what, never mind you lot. I know Al would love it.”  
  


***  
  


As Valentine’s Day approached, Dave asked Alan to keep the evening free as he had a little surprise. Disappointingly, Alan didn’t look too excited about it. “You know my feelings about Valentine’s Day, right?” he reminded Dave gently as they sorted out the laundry together. “Everywhere’s going to be crowded and overpriced.”

“I know, I know.” Dave tried not to feel too discouraged as he balled up their socks into neat bundles, like Alan had taught him to. “I just want to, you know, do _something_ with you.”

Putting down a stack of shirts, Alan whipped out his phone and frowned down at his calendar. “I will try to see if I can leave work early,” he said. “There’s been so many delays on this project, it’s driving Flood and I up the wall.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dave muttered under his breath. Alan had been coming home later and later these days, and to add insult to injury, he’d been making all sorts of secretive phone calls, stepping out of the room every time it rang. If it weren’t for his complete trust in Alan, Dave would have already succumbed to a fit of suspicion and jealousy.

He could feel Alan studying him as they folded the laundry in silence. Then Alan stepped closer, pressing a kiss to Dave’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know we haven’t been seeing each other much, work’s been awful--”

“It’s okay.” Dave’s smile was small, but at least it was real. “Just-- try to spend Valentine’s Day with me, that’s all I ask.”

Something in Alan’s face closed off, restoring the distance between them, “No promises, but-- I’ll try, okay?”

Feeling the smile slide off his face, Dave only nodded, staring down at the piles of underwear he was folding.  
  


***  
  


This was quite possibly the worst Valentine’s day of Dave’s life.

To begin with, the morning had started off all wrong. Alan was already gone by the time Dave’s alarm went off, which meant Dave didn’t even get his usual goodbye kiss from Alan. Then Dave’s working files for his class presentation were somehow corrupted, which forced him to beg for help from Gareth, the weird computer bloke at the campus IT shop who didn’t like Dave much. After sprinting back and forth across campus, Dave had forgotten half his presentation notes. Still, he managed as best as he could, relieved when his extremely irate professor decided to be merciful and gave him a passing mark.

Needing a sympathetic ear, Dave sent Alan a flurry of texts to vent. Unfortunately, Alan must have been really swamped at work because Dave only received a very short but distracted reply from him a few hours later. It was hard not to be disappointed, and Dave kept telling himself that Alan must have been busy with Flood.

To make things worse, Dave was forced to spend the entire day witnessing sickeningly happy couples walking around hand in hand, carrying bouquets of flowers, stuffed animals or balloons with annoying slogans like ‘YOU MAKE ME BEARY HAPPY’. Every time someone knocked on the door of his classroom, it was a delivery for one of his classmates who would squeal or blush in delight. Even Andre, who claimed that he did not celebrate Valentine’s Day, received a box of homemade chocolate fudge from his wife which made him turn tomato red in pleasure and embarrassment. Dave smiled and clapped him on the shoulder in encouragement, even though it left a tight lump in his throat.

When classes ended for the day and there was no call or text from Alan, Dave started wondering whether he should cancel the reservation they had at their favourite Italian restaurant. Martin and Fletch, who kept exchanging concerned looks, offered to hang out with him and cheer him up, but Dave knew they had plans with their respective girlfriends. “Nah it’s all right,” Dave told his friends, who were looking increasingly guilty. “Maybe I’ll just go home and watch a movie while I wait for Al.”

“I’m sure he’ll finish work in time for the Philip Glass thing,” Fletch said, probably in a kind attempt to sound consoling. “You could join me and Grainne for drinks first, if you like?”

Dave knew Fletch was trying to be nice but he didn’t think he could suffer through his friends’ pity anymore. “Nah, I’ll be alright,” Dave said with fake cheer, grinning at both Martin and Fletch. “Good chance to enjoy bachelor life a bit, y’know?”

On the tube home, Dave kept checking his phone for messages, getting more and more pissed off that Alan didn’t even think to let him know he would be late for dinner. By the time he got back to his flat, he was fuming with rage, slamming the door and tossing his bag angrily somewhere in the living room. Now it seemed entirely unlikely Alan would be able to make it for the Philip Glass concert, which Dave couldn’t even blame him for because he’d kept it a secret from Alan, wanting it to be a surprise.

“Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day to me,” he said bitterly to himself.

The phone suddenly rang, rousing Dave from his misery. After pouting for two seconds, he reluctantly got up and went to hunt for his bag, just in case Alan had an emergency. “The fuckin’ studio better be burning down,” Dave muttered, before picking up his bag and fishing out his phone. To his surprise - and disappointment - it wasn’t Alan’s number on the caller-ID but Flood’s.

Dave swiped the green ‘Answer’ button. “Hey mate.”

The background of wherever Flood happened to be was filled with loud music. “Hey Dave, Alan asked me to call and tell you he won’t be able to make it for dinner,” Flood said apologetically.

Even though he was expecting it, Dave’s heart sank. “He couldn’t call me himself and tell me?”

“His phone died, it’s a long story,” Flood said. “But um-- sorry, I kinda also needed to ask you a favour.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure mate.” Dave was a little less peeved now he knew the reason for Alan’s unusual silence. Plus, he was always happy to help Flood out in return for his role in arranging the rooftop picnic for Dave and Alan. “What do you need?”

“Alan and I have been trying to get our security deposit back from our landlord for the longest time,” Flood said, sounding irritated here. “The good news is that he finally agreed to return it to us. Bad news is that he’s refusing to do a bank transfer or anything remotely convenient. Says he wants us to go to his place, pick up the cheque and sign a letter of acknowledgement in person.”

Dave snorted. He knew Alan had complained about their previous landlord in Clapham a lot. “Sounds like a fuckin’ arsehole.”

“Complete tosser through and through,” Flood agreed. “I was supposed to go over tonight and pick it up, but both me and Alan are horribly delayed at the studio. Any chance you could--”

“Yeah, of course I’ll help,” Dave said immediately. “It’s okay if I sign on your and Al’s behalf?”

“Yeah it’s fine.” Flood sounded relieved. “Cheers so much, mate. We were worried that the arsehole landlord might change his mind if we put it off any later.”

“No problem, text me the details.” Once Dave hung up, he went to wash his face before retrieving his wallet from his bag. If he wasn’t going to be able to celebrate Valentine’s Day with Alan, at least he could be useful to someone.  
  


***  
  


It was quite a strange but nostalgic experience for Dave to make his way back to Alan’s old flat in Clapham. He loved their current flat together and the life they’d built there, but there were so many memories he had of this place, especially in the beginning of their relationship when he would take the Northern line up here to meet Alan at the tube station. It was where Alan had injured his hand and Dave had first brought him to the hospital, and it was where they had first confirmed their relationship after the rooftop picnic.

Taking his time, Dave often stopped and paused to remember a shop he’d bought something from, or a landmark he’d make fun of with Alan. By the time Dave reached his destination, it was already quite dark. He hoped the landlord wouldn’t be too grumpy about being made to wait.

Knocking on the ground floor flat which Flood had told him to go to, Dave was surprised when the door opened to reveal an angry, harassed-looking woman carrying a crying baby. “Hiya, is Mr Winstead in?” Dave asked.

“Are you Dave?” she said gruffly.

Dave thought it was odd that she knew his name, but he dismissed the thought quickly. The sooner he finished his errand, the sooner he could get some takeaway for him and Alan. “Yeah, I’m here to collect the cheque for Mark Ellis and Alan Wilder.”

The woman fished out a set of keys and shoved it at him. “Landlord’s on the roof, fixing the buggered door. He’s got your cheque.”

“Thank y--” Dave stumbled back in surprise when the door slammed in his face, leaving him staring at the fading ‘101’ numbers. Shrugging it off, Dave let himself into the building and started climbing all ten flights of stairs to the roof, allowing himself a brief stop at Alan’s old floor before he made his way upstairs.

As the woman had mentioned, the door was ajar but Dave couldn’t see the landlord anywhere about. Deciding to step out onto the roof, Dave zipped up his jacket even more as he pushed the door open, the wind instantly hitting him in the face as he looked around for someone, anyone on the roof.

His jaw dropped when he saw Alan standing right by the spot where they had their rooftop picnic almost a year ago. There was even a blanket on the ground, held down by a basket. “Al?” Dave said in amazement. “What-- I thought you were stuck at work?”

All wrapped up in a scarf and black trenchcoat, Alan was smiling as he beckoned Dave over. “Just come here before I freeze my face off.”

Nothing could describe the elation Dave felt as he made his way to Alan, smiling into their kiss. Now that he knew Alan had such a huge surprise up his sleeve this entire time, Dave understood why Alan had made himself unavailable the whole day. “You clever bastard,” Dave said, laughing as he cupped Alan’s cold cheeks. “So I take it Flood was in on this, yeah?”

Alan nodded. “Needed his help for some of it.”

“Well done, you caught me by surprise.” Dave was beaming at Alan, glad he hadn’t sold or returned the Philip Glass tickets. “Now let’s eat quickly and go because we might make it time for _my_ surprise.”

“I’m afraid that might have to wait,” an apologetic Alan said. Before Dave could ask him what he meant by that, Alan took something out of his pocket and got down onto one knee.

Dave was so shocked that he could only stare at Alan, completely speechless.

Alan was holding up a black clamshell-style ring box, which he popped open to reveal a sleek silver ring nestled inside. This was one of the very rare times where he actually looked nervous, licking his lips a few times before he looked up at Dave and started on his speech in a low, quiet voice.

“I know we’ve been together for only about-- ten months, give or take. Actually, it’ll be more than a year, if you want to count the first time I sent pizza to your flat,” Alan said, which elicited a hoarse chuckle out of a still stunned Dave. “But it doesn’t matter, really. It already feels like we’ve known each other for ages. You know?”

Dave nodded enthusiastically, because he _did_ know. Being with Alan was as easy and natural as breathing, because they understood each other so well on a deep and instinctive level. Even when they’d first met, he’d already felt like he’d known Alan for years. His pulse was pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking; Dave had so much to say, but he clapped his hands over his mouth just so Alan could finish what he wanted to say.

Something in Alan’s eyes softened. “You really mean a lot to me. So much. You were many firsts for me. I know I can be quite-- er, difficult to read at times. But you didn’t care or mind that I was so guarded at first. By the time I wanted to let you in, I realised you were already inside all along.”

Here Alan looked down at the ring, his throat working as though he were struggling to contain his emotions. Dave himself was barely holding it together; he had to keep taking deep breaths, otherwise he might float away or break down completely. After the emotional rollercoaster he’d been through all day, it wasn’t his fault his nerves were so fraught.

Alan cleared his throat. When he looked up at Dave this time, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. “Remember how I said you were many firsts for me? You’re the first person I ever fell in love with.” Alan’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “You make me laugh so much, even when I’m having the most horrible day ever. And you’re so-- do you even know how kind and supportive you are? You’ve sat through all the Recoil rehearsals and attended all our concerts. I always felt better, knowing you were there.”

“Fuck’s sake, Al.” Dave swiped a shaky hand across his eyes, despite his best efforts. Never had laughing and crying felt like the exact same thing for him. “I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

Alan laughed here, even as he discreetly wiped his eyes. “I’m almost done, I promise.” Here, he took a deep breath before holding up the ring to Dave again. “I want to build a life with you, spend the rest of my life with you.”

Pausing here, Alan took in a long breath before he finally spoke again: “So what I’m really asking, in a roundabout way is-- Will you marry me, David Gahan?”

Dave couldn’t hold back his tears as he nodded vigorously, reaching down to drag Alan up onto his feet for a kiss, or even two or three. It was all very messy and frantic because Dave couldn’t stop crying, and Alan himself was red-eyed and smiling like a lunatic. “So-- your answer?”

“Yes, you idiot.” Dave huffed out a laugh, peppering kisses all over Alan’s face. “As if you even had to bloody ask.”

Alan pretended to pocket the ring box again. “So I didn’t even need a ring? Guess I’ll go get a refund.”

“Give it to me or I’ll tell Flood you tripped again,” Dave threatened, which made both of them dissolve into more laughter and happy tears.  
  


***  
  


By the time they got home, it was definitely too late for the Philip Glass concert. Alan groaned when Dave informed him about the missed surprise, but then again the two of them were far too happy to care much about it. Dave felt like he was floating on air, tethered to the earth only by the warm band of metal around his ring finger.

To Dave’s surprise, Alan propelled him off the sofa and out of the flat, into Martin’s and Fletch’s next door. They were sitting inside with Grainne and Christina, sharing a bottle of wine while some Kraftwerk played in the background. Martin sat up as Dave and Alan let themselves in. “How did it go?” he asked, looking worried.

Dave held up his hand with a large grin, while Martin let out a sigh of relief and Fletch clapped heartily for the two of them. “We were so worried,” Martin admitted, as Dave and Alan dragged over chairs from the kitchen to sit with them. “Dave, you looked so angry when you thought Alan was ignoring you.”

“I was fuckin’ seething,” Dave said bluntly, making everyone else laugh.

“I told Alan he might have gone too far,” Fletch said, pouring out wine for them as well.

Something occurred to Dave. “Wait, when did you two get involved in Al’s plans?” he asked, gesturing towards Martin and Fletch.

“Remember when I ‘forgot’ my phone?” Alan reminded him, his fingers hooking the air to make quotation marks. “That’s when I enlisted their help.”

“Yeah, we had specific instructions to stop you if you decided to stomp down to Alan’s workplace,” Martin said with a chuckle.

“And we had to make sure you made no alternate plans,” Fletch told him. “So you’d be free when Flood called you.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Dave really was amazed. Coupled with his joy and utter elation from Alan’s proposal, his head still felt like it might explode at any minute. “You lot really planned this out, didn’t you?”

“The boys were really excited about it,” Grainne told him with a broad smile. “Congratulations, you two.”

“ _Herzliche Glückwünsche_ ,” a beaming Christina said, raising her glass after which everyone joined her in a toast.

“Congratulations to our friends,” Martin said, a little more bold now thanks to the alcohol. “I can safely say that when they first met during a pizza delivery, I didn’t think I’d be toasting their engagement.”

“Hear, hear!” Fletch said loudly, everyone clinking their glasses together.

An uncomprehending Christina glanced over at Martin. “Er, ‘met during a pizza delivery’ - is this an English saying I don’t know?”

“No, we really did meet like that,” Alan informed her, exchanging a knowing grin with Dave. He reached over for Dave’s hand, and Dave couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night, especially whenever he felt Alan’s thumb rubbing over the warm metal band of his ring.

This was quite possibly the best Valentine’s day of Dave’s life.


End file.
